Winged Justice
by RedSoul411
Summary: L has declared war on Kira, bearing down on Tokyo as two geniuses clash. Yet another lurks in the shadows, with a quest that dwarfs even Light's - Demons, Legends, Gods: Who will bring true Justice to this world? Batman/Death Note AU
1. Rumours

**Hi my fellow Dark Knight and/or Shinigami fans! I've been wanting to write something like this for a while, based on the whole L = Greatest Detective, Batman = Greatest Detective. Given that Batman is masked and unknown to the public, he's got to be a good match for Kira. I'm trying to stay as true to both series as possible. Inspirations from the Batman perspective are Arkham Asylum (game and comic) as well as the films (he's not so esablished yet, still and urban myth) and Light has yet to meet Misa. This may be a disaster, or a stroke of genius, but here is Chapter 1 of Winged Justice, enjoy :)**

The scream was ear-piercing, but no-one heard. And the pain, the pain was blinding. He was only eighteen. He was raised in a good family. His father was a train driver, his mother a librarian. He understood his homework, knew his subjects back to front. But peer pressure is a dangerous thing in this city. He'd pick up his homework, and tossed it aside when he got home. The allure of life on the other side was too much for him to handle. He was athletic enough. All that was required of him was to not ask questions, and throw a few fists at whatever low-life caused his boss any hassle. He'd spend his nights in clubs, helping the pushers _persuade _the more reluctant young buyers. For four months, that nagging voice in the back of his head told him, karma would come and get him – all of them – for what they do. For the kind of things they've been doing for four months now.

He remembered the first girl who overdosed in front of him, four months ago. It was nightmarish, demonic. Her eyes glazed over as her back arched and her limbs twitched; there was a sort of mucus pouring out with her blood, as it trailed down her cream face, causing him to feel fear, and revulsion. The others did nothing for her - a few laughed. Two of the older guys picked her up, took her to the next room; grins of pure evil etched across their broad faces. They were in that office room for twenty minutes. He knew what they were doing. They liked it when the girls didn't fight back. They were in control. A few hours later, he was on his way home, and saw her body in the alleyway. No skirt, no underwear, blood everywhere. Her face still looked out to him. He could still see her dream-like complexion. He read in the paper the next day; the girl was found at about six in the morning. She was only fifteen. The money kept him in with that crowd. But a part of him knew he would pay for crimes like this.

And so he did. Hell made him pay; made them all pay. It sent a demon up for them. Hundreds of people danced their souls away in that club of sin. While those who helped ran it, they had to cater for the demon. He didn't even see it come for them, not until it was too late. Upon the glass top roof it spread its foul wings of darkness. Those eyes, those horrible white eyes; they carried the vengeance of the young girl with them. The beast bore down upon them with unholy justice. Like the wind, it swept through the room, consuming all who opposed it in a cloak of shadow, leaving whoever it got a wreck of fear on the floor beneath it. It would glide from victim to victim; each would cry for mercy, the demon did not comply. Finally it turned to him.

If only he stayed at home, and studied for his final exams. If only he helped that girl. If only he'd have tried to stop all this. As the shadow bore down upon him, he remembered his father saying to him that this city was sick, and if his son stayed with this gang, he'd be a part of the disease. He was a virus, a disease of crime. And the city was to be cured of him. His scream was ear-piercing, but no-one heard.

* * *

"Overdid it a bit." Bruce sighed to himself. The boy was a teenager, and didn't even try to fight back. Still, Carlos' gang couldn't go on like this. This kid knew what would happen if they kept pushing in this club. Too many minors here. Carlos had to be stopped, tonight, lest another kid would die.

Reaching down to one of the dealers, he found a small bag of blow. Placing his finger inside, he licked the small dot of powder left on it. It was one hell of a compound, he thought, as he spat on the floor with disgust. Still, he could relax, there was no taste of anything too lethal – at least Crane hadn't been a part of its production.

He leapt across the beams of the night-club, as the youth of Gotham danced their hearts out, unbeknownst that its mythical beast was bearing down on the owner, justice blazoned in his eyes.

* * *

Inside the office, Carlos sat with a fiendish grin on his face. One greasy slim arm around a young girl – he'd guess no older than sixteen, whilst her cousin's head bobbed up and down on his lap. Stroking her frizzy hear, he would talk to the girl between kisses, telling her how he knew everyone famous in this city, how he'd make them both stars. They giggled moronically. He passed them a tray, lines already set up on it. Lifting her head from his dick, the second girl was happy to oblige and took one, while the other whispered something into his ear.

Whatever she said would never come to fruition, however, as the second girl screamed. Was she hallucinating? Was the drug kicking in so soon? The devil seemed to have entered - Tall, dark, with pointed horns growing from the side of his head. Carlos turned for his gun, but the demon spawned a winged creature from his depths, it sliced at Carlos' hand, as both girls leapt from the couch and ran to the corner, cowering and sobbing. The white eyed beast turned to them.

"Leave…" It spoke, causing them to run for the door in terror. As they left, the beast reached out, and shut the door behind them.

Carlos clutched his bleeding hand, as his predator spoke.

"I hit a few nerves. You've minutes before that becomes too fatal. And don't try and reach for your phone; you talk to no-one but me. I decide if you leave here with that wound, or more." Carlos' beady eyes kept shooting for the phone on his desk.

"W-w-what d-d-do w-want?" He cowered.

"This place closes tonight. So does 'Omen' on 23rd street, and 'Syndrome' on 25th. And I want to know who is supplying you."

"Y-you can't just come in here, and ask a manager t-to close his cl-"

Another winged object flew at Carlos, tearing through the couch, leaving a hole mere centimetres away from his crotch. Carlos cried in agony. Again, no-one heard.

"Who is supplying you?" The demon spoke again.

"O-o-okay, these g-guys, a-at the docks-" He began to confess.

"I want names!" The demon roared, swiftly moving closer, till all light around Carlos was diminishing in the mist of darkness that followed this demon.

"I-I-I" Was all he could articulate.

* * *

_Damn, he's too coked-up to be of any information!_ Bruce cursed mentally.

Before him was the whimpering wreck of Carlos. Piss began to stain the couch, as Bruce lifted him up by his neck to also see a dark brown patch where his ass was. Crane may not have helped make this stuff, but it was clear it can do some damage to even the most hardened of drug-users.

This is the same man that stood before Dent only two weeks ago, over that girl Isabella's murder. He showed no fear in that court room. Between Loeb and Falcone; there'd be too little evidence for even Harvey to get a conviction. This scum was too helpful to the cops and the Family to be put behind bars so soon. His case was even broadcast (even for this city, the state of the girl's body attracted quite a bit of media attention). Yet here, before him, he feared the darkness. The law could not overcome this city of crime. But justice can. And Bruce was Justice.

As he lifted Carlos' face to his, something else happened. The drugs seemed to have took a more violent turn. Carlos screamed in pain. Surely the wound wasn't too serious yet. He had another ten minutes before he would have lost enough blood. Carlos thrashed about.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" He cried.

Bruce dropped him and stepped back in shock. Carlos collapsed on the floor, eyes rolled back, and he clutched his chest, before finally, he stopped. Bruce bent down after a moment, checked his pulse, and sighed. The fear was too much for Carlos. His heart failed. At this point the music had stopped downstairs. There were sirens outside.

_Great! Those girls actually got a hold of the cops! _Bruce didn't need Loeb's men running around the place. Not while he was over a dead body. And the last two people to see Carlos would swear he did it.

Bruce grappled to a vent in the top corner, and, with muscle-ripping force, tore it from the wall. Climbing in, he followed it until it led to the alleyway where Isabella was found. Dropping down, he drifted between the shadows, taking a look at the horde of police cars outside the club.

_A known gang of sex-offending, drug-dealing murders have been openly operating here for four months, and they only take notice when two girls cry 'The Bat is here!' _Bruce couldn't help but find it predictably amusing.

Lifting a grid into the sewer below, he counted his blessings. Only a year into his campaign, it wouldn't be long before the smarter cops at the precinct begin to scour the sewers, as well as the rooftops, in order to explain his disappearances.

* * *

"Here we are, Master Bruce!" Alfred declared as he entered Bruce's bedroom that afternoon, carrying a tray of fruit and a newspaper.

Bruce lifted himself from the bed and began to eat, as Alfred indicated to the front page.

"'The Globe' here declares you've killed at least 20 now sir! Honestly! A junkie like that is usually so full of that poison his own shadow would kill him, never mind yours!"

"It's nothing I didn't expect Alfred, 'the Globe' has been pressed on heavily by Loeb, anything that can make me look bad will be printed."

Alfred paused for a moment before speaking again.

"Astute as ever sir, indeed, 'The Globe' is the only paper that accuses you."

Bruce looked up, puzzled.

"What? What other papers are talking about it? Carlos wasn't even that well known."

Alfred didn't answer; instead he switched on Bruce's personal laptop. As it booted up, he turned to his master.

"Quite a lot of papers actually, sir. International ones to be more precise. You're only mentioned in two or three – all American – as the rest of the world doesn't even know the Batman exists. And they aren't blaming this on drugs either. They suspect someone else."

Bruce still looked confused. He had been so swept up with the drug rings in the clubs downtown that he had little time to follow any other media frenzy, especially if it didn't involve criminals in Gotham. Alfred, however, made it a point to keep up to date on any other affair; primarily to inform his master should Bruce need to act as if he hasn't been out every night breaking teeth and getting shot.

At this point the laptop was powered up, and Alfred busied himself by going online and finding a forum that would help his explanation. Bruce got out of his bed and walked over, leaning over his butler's shoulder.

"Tributes to…Kira?" Bruce didn't know what to make of it.

"Yes, over the past month there has been a lot of deaths in the world of crime. Between known Mafia leaders, to convicted Yakuza members, and even several high-ranked Taliban terrorists - they've all died the same way…a heart attack."

Bruce paused for a moment.

"And the press thinks that the same thing happened to Carlos?"

"Yes, his face got recognition this morning because of that poor girl's death outside the club. People suspect that someone is orchestrating these deaths – they call them Kira, because-"

"I travelled through Japan, Alfred, I know what it means." Bruce interrupted. Alfred coughed indignantly and continued.

"Well, Kira has made it evident that they kill criminals, drug dealers, rapists, murderers, muggers – it seems they have the same distain for evil as you do, sir."

"…don't put the Batman in with this 'Kira', Alfred. What they're doing isn't justice. Some of these men were already behind bars. They were already paying for their crimes. This killer seems to have a pretty childish sense of justice."

"At any rate, you're off the hook for the most part. The majority of Gotham would rather believe it was this Kira whom killed Carlos, than the mythical Bat."

Bruce stood silent. He didn't care if Gotham blamed him for Carlos death. He had too much going on through his mind right now for that problem to worry him. Was Kira responsible for his death – all their deaths? He travelled the world yet never heard of any assassin like this. Was it telepathy? Was the killer using viral technology? Was there even a killer? If there was, then this Kira had halted his own investigation, no different than if the killer had been present there. He needed to be stopped.

"…I know what you're thinking, Master Bruce; but for the time being let's not bite of more than we can chew. Rumour has it amongst police intelligence that the detective 'L' has a keen interest in the Kira killings. I believe you know of him?" Alfred turned.

"Yes. I never met him, but P.I.s worldwide hold him in high regard. There was talk he based himself in England for a time, right?" Bruce mused turning to Alfred expectantly.

"Yes. But you're not falling for that old American presumption that I know everyone from England simply because I was born there, are you?" Alfred spoke, slightly annoyed.

Bruce laughed off the last comment, before scratching his hair. If 'L' was investigating the case, and since he was already knee-deep in the club drug ring in Gotham, there'd be little point in searching for some 'Kira'. The Batman had other business to attend to, rather than chase a suspect he didn't fully believe existed.

* * *

"Oh, you suck, Light!" Sayu laughed at her big brother from the living room.

Both she and Light held wireless steering wheels while racing on Mario Kart. Light was letting her win, obviously. He was too kind a person to spoil his little sister's fun. She knew that, obviously, but she still took pride in it. He guessed as much, since there was little of anything else she could be better than him at.

Despite feigning a need to win, Light was doing rather well to keep racing. He not only had to put up with his sister's taunts and giggles, but the satanic cackle from the side of his face, a cackle only he could here.

"Wow, Light, she's right! You really do suck! If you'd have only chosen Bowser, you'd be able to muscle her out of the track!" Ryuk's disturbing grin jumped between Light's face and the screen. After winning for a third time with such a handicap, Sayu decided to get a snack from the kitchen for them.

When out of ear-shot, Ryuk decided to speak again, knowing he'd get an answer from Light.

"Why are you even playing? Not that I'm complaining or anything, but you usually have 'important work' to do." He taunted.

Light turned to him and spoke in little more than a whisper.

"The cameras are gone, and there's still nothing that can link me to Kira. L has nothing. I need to keep up appearances in the family. If Sayu thinks I'm acting strange, dad'll hear about it eventually. We don't need the task force suspecting me again. Besides, I've written enough for the time being. Criminals are still dying, Ryuk – why can't I take a little pleasure after doing such good work?"

Light smiled at Ryuk, whom was standing between him and Sayu. Believing it was at her, Sayu skipped back to the sofa and picked up her wheel.

"Hey Light! You know a bit about this Kira thing, right? Can you tell me something?" She asked breezily.

Light made no bodily reaction, and agreed casually, but his insides were churning. Did Sayu just hear him?

"One of the boys in our class was on this forum in school today. Kira killed some guy in America yesterday; what city was it? It had a funny name."

"Gotham?" Light responded. He thought it best to sound informed, now presuming she hadn't heard his conversation after all, "I heard a dealer got killed by him there, was that the one?"

"Yeah, that was it! Anyway, some guys living there posted some comments that Kira might be from there!"

Light hadn't checked his 'fanbase' for a while now. Since L made it clear he can kill from anywhere, why would they presume he'd be in Gotham?

"Oh, why's that?" He asked, sounding interested.

"Well, there's this…this monster living there. A Bat. And they think it can kill with, like, soundwave-thingies. I mean, it is a bat. And witnesses say it attacked him before he died! What do you think? Think L's in the wrong place?" She looked at him expectantly.

Sighing, Light turned to his sister. "The internet's full of losers, Sayu. That sounds like nothing more than an urban legend. I mean, come on, a giant bat!?"

"But, but if its giant, then it could fly all over the globe, kill people from a distance, y'know?" Sayu attempted to rationally argue her case. Light felt a little insulted that his hallowed quest for good was being compared to a flying rodent.

"You think some people would've seen it, Sayu. And besides, Dad's already told us that he's leading the investigation. You saw L's broadcast. Kira's here. Dad and L will find him, and I promise you he won't be a giant bat." Light smiled.

"…I guess," Sayu looked down, dejected and slightly tearful, "…I just thought, if it were true, then it could help dad…I just don't want him to get hurt…"

He looked down at Sayu. Never missing an opportunity to look more faultless and innocent big brother, Light embraced his sister.

"He won't Sayu, I promise. Kira will never harm dad."

Sayu wiped her eyes and smiled.

"Thanks, big brother. I…I'm gonna go study for a bit. I've had enough games for now." She took herself off to her room sheepishly. Light waited for her door to close before turning to Ryuk.

"Do you think it might be one of you?" He asked. Ryuk was so absent minded during the conversation that he needed to be asked three times before looking away from Mario Kart.

"I doubt it, Shinigami don't need to come down here to kill. And how can people say they saw it, when we're only visible upon touching the Death Note?" Ryuk's points punched holes in Light's brief and only explanation for this ludicrous bat story.

"Yeah, you're right. People will make up any garbage to explain what I'm doing. Still, Gotham. It's been two weeks, and I still can't get a hold of any files on those inmates at Arkham."

"Huh?" Ryuk paid little attention as his Bowser tore through the track, after powering up on a mushroom.

"They keep those files so secret even I can't get access to a name and a face of the madmen they keep locked up in there. Regardless, If Sayu's had enough for today, then I guess we can go back to our mission. Switch that off."

Ryuk moaned as the Wii shut down. The two drifted to Light's room, where 'Justice' would resume.

**Well, good? bad? if you've any suggestions, you know where to review (that big box beneath this text) so I hope you'll comment on it! Next chapter will be up soon regardless, so keep on reading! :)**


	2. Lightning Stikes Twice

**hey my DC/Shonen fanatic! It's taken a while to update this story, but I felt I needed to write a few chapters at once, to keep my at a good pace - and not just update a chapter once I'vr finished writing it, like I was doing up until now :P**

**Once again, I don't own either Batman or Death Note...but imagine if I did...that'd be _sweet!_**

Five days had passed since Bruce Wayne was introduced to the might of 'Kira', yet he was still sceptical that the being even existed. Even so, the whisper of a vigilante transcending past even his own righteous psyche interested him, and indeed he began casually complying a vague profile and case for the murders. One example of this was when downloading schematics of the sewer and subway system surrounding the next set of clubs he was targeting. Despite the amount of funding he had placed into the surveillance of the city, Bruce sighed in defeat as the system needed at least another hour until it would be functional to him.

Retiring to the library in hopes of finding older maps of Gotham's layout (he never took these articles for granted, most of these passages would still be relevant enough) when he came across one of his father's medical journals. During his adolescence, Bruce would scour the library for journals such as this; immersing himself in his father's writings – he never fully understood what his father was talking about in them; but, for a few fleeting hours, he could feel like he was still there. Skimming through the pages, Bruce wasn't all that interested in the depths of detail his father was writing in, but upon reaching the spine of the journal, he found the repeated use of 'heat attacks'. Halting, he turned back to the nearest heading and began to read.

Indeed, when inspecting the text closely, Thomas Wayne had trailed off from his usually cold and complex description of his medical studies to a more ponderous monologue:

_'…There was no mistaking it, but the Commissioner didn't want to hear of it – no one wanted to hear of it. I spent days studying over the autopsy results. The patient was an accomplished marathon runner. He was up to date with all health checks. No traces of narcotics on him, and he; like all these patients (or, in my opinion, victims) is father to a daughter heavily suspected to be a part of the sex trade. For a sixth time in a month, I've a corpse in my hospital that shouldn't be there! I mentioned the daughter issue to the police; was that enough? Would they even do anything? How could they? I'm suggesting someone or something caused these men to die of heart attacks. None were obese, abused their bodies in any way, and the only call of stress came from poverty and the grooming of their children. __But I digress; I'm in no position to be interfering in the matters of law and justice here…'_

One line was enough to spur Bruce. The journal dated back twenty years, only months before _that_ night. Was this the same thing? He never ruled out the growth of telepathy through evolution, and it wouldn't be impossible for two people to develop a similar defence mechanism. After flicking hungrily through the rest of the journal, he became disappointed to find his father soon became immersed in a flu pandemic, and the deaths seemed to have subsided. Why had the killer stopped?

He laughed to himself, he was already sure that there even was a killer at all. He was no doctor, but freak heart attacks were, well, freakish – and any evidence for Carlos death being a murder were washed away with the man's deteriorating corpse, plagued with a vicious mix of drugs. As he closed the book, he felt a vibration in his chest. Stalling momentarily, a shock rushed through his body, freezing the blood. No, surely not. What were the odds of reading about it, and it happening?

This fear clouded Bruce for a mere second, when the chime of his cell phone accompanied the vibrations. Sighing and again chuckling (that was twice in a day, maybe he was ill!), Bruce answered.

"Yes Alfred?" He asked.

"Master Bruce, the schematics are complete, and you'll want to switch on Gotham Tonight." Alfred answered ominously.

Bruce did as instructed, to find the rear end of a report from the entrance to the 'Omen' club. The reporter was interviewing a man he never thought he'd see there.

"And you're not afraid that this broadcast will attract the criminal known as Kira? I mean, association with a suspect of drug trafficking can hardly be helpful for your image Mr. Cobblepot."

"Listen tuts, the death of my business partner has heavily saddened me, so it would be best to keep your sweet little mouth shut on that issue!"

Bruce growled, 'Penguin'.

"The press have got it into their thick heads that these losers are dropping across the globe because of some nut-job called Kira! But I tell ya, I've stood trial three times in the past year; no conviction! I'd be a bigger target to this so called killer, but why am I still here? Because it's shit!"

"Mr. Cobblepot, please, there are families watching this broad-"

"That's quite right, tuts. So I say to all you youngsters, tired of staying in and studying? Why not let your hair down and come along to-"

"Mr. Cobblepot, are you really inviting underage citizens to attend your club!"

Bruce phased out the rest of the interview, he knew the rest of Cobblepot's speeches. He'd heard them twice before. He went around boasting how he'd escaped Black Gate three times now. That didn't make him any less guilty. But he never expected that Carlos' death would make him surface as his business associate – or supplier.

"Master Bruce, I assume you'll be out late tonight?" Alfred asked over Bruce's shoulder.

"…Yes…"

* * *

Soichiro sighed with exhaustion. How many times did he have to crawl back into his home this time in the morning? There were milkmen delivering for crying out loud! Clumsily removing his shoes, he sat on one of the stairs to rub his feet. With all due respect to Ryuzaki, the man was a slave driver, and as much as he wouldn't want to admit it, his time on the force certainly did age him.

Creeping up the steps towards his bedroom, he made an oath that he'd get at least five hours today. Ryuzaki would still be reviewing his family's tapes – and he was pretty sure the man felt more objective when the subjects' father and husband weren't present. As he reached the top, however, his mind was distracted by noises and flickering light underneath his son's room.

Frowning, he proceeded to open Light's door to see what the noise was. Inside, Light wheeled around in his chair in shock, a pen poised over a small notebook, while his television flashed the lights of an American news channel, though the sound was fairly low.

"L-light, what are you doing up this early…" He yawned.

"Dad…er…have you been on duty all night?" Light asked, dropping the pen and walking towards his father, switching on the light of his bedroom.

"…yeah…" Was all the chief could say.

Light saw his father's eyes survey his desk, and felt an explanation was due.

"…I haven't been able to sleep well these last two days, either." Light sighed, sitting on his bed, his head bowed.

"Oh, why?" His father asked, full of concern.

"It's the finals, y'know. I guess even though I've been doing so well up to now, I wouldn't be human if they didn't get to me. I mean, what if I let everyone down?" Light raised a hand to his forehead, emulating stress. His father groaned and placed a hand on Light's shoulders.

"Son, you're the brightest person I've ever met…" Soichiro began his fatherly love speech, though Light chuckled mentally, _even smarter than 'L' dad? _He pondered obnoxiously.

"I decided if all I'm doing in bed is lying awake, I may as well do some light studying. TV is pretty poor this time of morning, but US news is hitting prime-time about now, plus it helps me with my English." Light explained, nodding to the desk; where, unbeknownst to Soichiro, a large and demonic figure sat, laughing manically at the spectacle before him.

"Look at you Light, the chief of the task force is mere feet away from the object you've been using to kill all these people, and you won't bat an eyelid." He grinned.

Both men turned to the television, in time to see the end of the report Light was watching.

"Well…er…_thank you_ Mr. Cobblepot…" snorted the reporter, "Back to you Mac…" Light's father turned back to his son.

"Well, I'd say get some sleep, but that would be a little too patronising. If you're awake, just make sure you keep that TV down, alright?" With that he rose up and left.

Light sighed with relief.

"What are you gonna do about that Cobblepot guy, huh, Light?" Ryuk finally asked.

"I could just kill him now, it'd be impossible to get a face like that out of my mind anytime soon. But, my instincts tell me his death will have a lot more value in, let's say, the next few hours. If any of those American brats are stupid enough to go to that _criminal's_ club, then they'll bear witness to his death."

Striding to the Death Note, Light produced another pen.

_Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, will die on the 19__th__ January 2007, at 23:45 (Eastern Seaboard Time) upon committing suicide, by throwing himself from the roof of the Gotham Night Club 'Omen' front entrance._

Light sat back and smiled triumphantly. Turning to Ryuk, he noted his 'spectator' was curious as to know why he chose this method of death.

"I'll show that little freak what happens why you try and talk down Kira. He'll fall on the corrupt foundations he helped to build."

* * *

Bruce sat on the windowsill of the 'Omen', grimacing at the pounding headache he'd already picked up before he even got into a fight. Foolishly switching on the sound frequency of his bat-ears, he'd amplified the music beats playing in the club, causing a high ringing to linger.

He'd have to do this with his eyes. Looking down the alleyway he was hanging over, he saw the crowds of minors, eager to taste the grittier side of Gotham life. How foolish. He had to hand it to Penguin; as shameless as he was to attract minors, his speeches on TV worked – they always did. Well, after tonight, he'd pick up enough evidence to slam this overblown drug-dealer in Black Gate for a long, long time.

Busting open the window, Bruce wasn't afraid anyone would hear, what with that noise downstairs. Glancing at a clock in the stockroom he'd entered, 11.35pm, he'd be done here in ten minutes.

Drifting through the door opposite him, he entered the shadows of the balcony above the club. He noted seven guards, all armed with sub-machine guns, probably more. Grappling above two of them, he hung motionless, like that bat he was, waiting for them to turn their backs on one another.

The action was instantaneous. As one turned away, a hand seemed to emerge and crawl from some dark abyss, reached down and gripped the other man by the face. Startled, he attempted to fire, albeit aimlessly, but he was several feet in the air by this time, and another monstrous arm emerged from the darkness, sending a blow to the pressure point by his elbow. The gun dropped as the demon began to choke the man unconscious.

As the gun landed on the balcony, the song playing below was reaching its climax. Bruce smiled slightly; even with his skill, he had to appreciate luck when it happened.

Climbing down with unnatural speed, he slammed his leg into the back of the other guard's knee, stopped the man firing by crushing his wrist, twisting his other arm behind his back, then slammed his forehead against the handlebar. He slummed over, incapacitated. Bruce looked down at the clock by the crowded bar. 11.37pm. Five guards, and Cobblepot, forget ten, he'd be finished up here in six minutes.

Inside his office, Penguin's talk with several of his dealers was going down well. However, a 'talk' with Penguin usually consisted of several minutes of shouting and orders, and the occasional swing from his umbrella. This one, however, only had the former. As the men left, he slouched back into his chair. Absently glancing at one of the newspapers of the morning, stating that Carlos' death was Kira's doing.

"Ha! Some killer that guy is! Try the Bat! I've heard the police reports." He grumbled to himself.

It was this point when the door flew open with two of his dealers crashing into his desk. Leaping backwards with fright, Penguin looked at the threshold and saw the one thing he dreaded, but managed to keep his nerve.

"…speak of the devil…" He chuckled, noting that his umbrella was only inches away.

The Bat took this as his cue to enter.

"…and He shall appear." Bruce finished. Looking into the office, he noted the clock above Penguin's head. 11.40pm. One minute to beat down this guy.

"However, unlike your usual devil, I don't need an invitation to enter this place Cobblepot." He boomed, crossing the threshold into the office. Penguin backed up slightly.

Reaching over the desk, Bruce's long, broad arms moved Penguin's entire figure over to his demonic, bat-like face.

"I had you pinned down as a lot of things Cobblepot, but a dealer to children, that wasn't on my list." He growled, as Penguin looked at anything but the Bat's white, cold eyes.

"…What's it to you? Guys gotta make a living, we can't all be Bruce Wayne-"

"Shut up! Don't you dare try and justify yourself!" Bruce threw a punch to the Penguin's stomach. This was foolish. The force of the punch shifted Penguin's weight, making Bruce lose his grip. This was Penguin's cue. Sending a flailing kick to the side of the Bat's torso, he counted on him to block it, knocking the kick backwards.

This push was enough for him to get into reach of his umbrella. Within a moment, he gripped the handle, twisted it and the umbrella's end produced a blade. Slashing wildly at his foe, the Bat opted to leap backwards out of the office and back onto the balcony, combat would be easier against that blade in an open space.

Chasing the Bat out, Penguin's hand twisted the handle again.

"Ha ha, keep your distance Bat! See what I care! Because, I've got a surprise for you!" Stopping metres away from his opponent, the Penguin pointed the umbrella at him.

"Say hello to my little friend!" He screamed, when Bruce heard a gunshot.

Reacting fast enough, Bruce leapt over the handlebar and held onto a beam for dear life, feeling blood pour from his arm. A bullet wound?

_That umbrella is a firearm?_ Manoeuvring himself out of Penguin's sight, Bruce began to climb the beam in pain.

After leaping back onto the balcony, Bruce instinctively launched a few Batarangs – the intention wasn't really to hit Penguin, it was to distract him, and it worked.

Firing at whatever moved in between the flashing lights emitting from the dance floor, Penguin growled in frustration. He'd revealed his new trump card, but since it hadn't killed the Bat, he was back to fighting the shadows themselves.

Bruce threw three more, this time to get a positive on Penguin's location. After a moment, he paused to notice that he hadn't fired another shot yet. Pulling out one more, Bruce crouched behind his cover and carefully held the blade out, in hopes of at least seeing some movement near the office from the blade's reflection. Why wasn't Penguin fighting back?

His answer was found when he saw him reach the top of a ladder leading to the rooftop. Of course! Just because he was looking for a fight here, didn't mean Cobblepot would stick around if he had an escape route.

Dashing to the ladder, it took Bruce only a fraction of the time it took Cobblepot to reach the roof. Outside, Bruce would have to take his foe down quicker now, and with less hiding spaces. Unlike the people on the dance floor, those queuing would definitely hear gunshots, and he didn't want the police here yet.

His worries were needless, however, when he saw Penguin standing on the ledge, looking down.

"…It wouldn't be the first time I've seen your umbrella fly you to safety, Penguin, but that thing is carrying only one blade, and a barrel that needs to be loaded with ammo. That thing won't hold you." Bruce stated.

"…I know…" Penguin sighed. This caught Bruce off balance. Penguin sounded resigned. Had he given up the chase?

Creeping slowly to the man, Bruce kept hold of his Batarang should this be a trap.

"…Your words cut deep, Bats…" The Penguin spoke, ominously.

"…" Upon travelling the world, Bruce had learnt a hell of a lot on human behaviour, but this was well out of Cobblepot's character. What words?

"…Look at them all, they've their whole lives ahead of them. And this city, and it's scum, just try to bleed that life out of them…" He placed a hand over his eyes…to cover his tears.

Bruce was at a total loss; surely Penguin wasn't seriously _breaking down_.

"…and I was a part of that scum! All for goddamn money! I'm a monster!" He cried.

Bruce risked holstering his weapon, if Penguin was falling apart, he didn't want to aggravate him. A desperate man is more dangerous than a greedy man. Turning, Penguin glared at the Bat.

"S-stay away. I'm gonna make it _my _job that this city is rid of at least one monster!"

Bruce took this as a threat to him, and was late to react when Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot leapt from the roof into the road beneath.

Above the bass inside, Bruce could hear ringing again - time; from screams. His instincts told him to look over the ledge and see the corpse, yet his better conscious warned him not to. Many would be looking up to see if he was thrown, and he didn't need any eye-witnesses pinning the Bat to the roof.

He fled. He was several blocks away when he first heard the police sirens. None of the guards were able to spot him before he took them out. Gordon was a lawful man, he'd suspect Batman, but he wasn't an obsessive man – if there wasn't any evidence that Batman was there, he couldn't be blamed.

Removing his glove and checking his watch, 11.48 pm.

What on Earth could have warped Cobblepot's mind like that, within five minutes?

**Well? The plot thickens, eh? I dunno if anyone reading thinks it's a little too taboo to do away with someone as infamous as Peguin so early, but hell, I needed a guy from Batman's Hall of Fame to fall before he'd seriously look into Kira. Tune in next time, when the Bat begins to really put his heart into the Kira killings...by interviewing a certain someone...**


End file.
